Just another light day, but it was Tuesday night trivia, and the host was slow, so … not a lot of time, but I made the quota. It seems a little sad, but then again, if I hadn’t had the quota, I don’t think I would have written a word on the novel. So … that’s something, I guess.
My novel seems too big for me today and like the pieces are sliding every which way. Or who knows–maybe I’m just more aware of everything I’m screwing up than I used to be.
Anyway, mark it, dude. Bedtime for me.
Just made it at the end of the day. Went to a cold but fun Mets game at CitiField (they lost to the Nationals), made it back to the apartment at around 11:30pm and was facing down the novel again at 12:30am. Not a great time to start, but I worked it. I think I dreamt about what I wrote. Not bad, not great, I did my work, and I made my quota. Went to bed around 2am, feeling sick again this morning, and I wonder why.
Amanda (my girlfriend) was looking for a good horror novel to read, and it was depressing because there were so few to recommend to her–and the blurbs on the back of the books didn’t help any. The genre is stuck in its schlocky roots. I mean, I like those schlocky roots, but … we’re not exactly winning anyone over.
The grass danced against the concrete side of the gas station in the bright, sharp afternoon sunlight. Merle stood beside his Mustang and smoked a Camel Wide. Frank was thinking about avoiding the bathroom entirely and shitting in the ditch beside the station.
“Come on, man, it’s just a fucking bathroom already!”
“You know how I feel about places like this! Remember Kansas? Remember that nightmare?”
“Whatever, man. We stopped because you said you had to go, so either go, or shit out here in the open. I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass which.”
Frank faced the restroom sign. The key, attached to a craggy, bent wire, which in turn was attached to a giant wooden block, labeled ‘Manly Key,’ was shaking in his hand.
Nearer the gas tanks, there were only a few eighteen-wheelers. Other motorists passed on the highway on the other side of a wide diamond of brown reeds.
Frank put the key in the door.
“Attaboy!” Merle said and pitched his cigarette to the ground. “Now make it snappy.”
Frank grabbed the handle and pulled back. He didn’t like anything about this seedy joint. He had legit concerns, he really did. Like, what was the place like when no one was in it? What kind of creepy-ass things crawled up out of the pipes when no one was looking? And hell, what of the bacteria, which loved dark and dank places? He figured that anything that was in the business of mutating would surely love to mutate away in such a place.
And people kept feeding it. Feeding it with their urine, their shit, their semen, their snot, and their blood. All of it into this rank den of germs that would then sit and stew, locked away until the next injection of disease-rich filth.
He turned on the light. There was a crowd standing in front of him in the nasty bathroom. It was all his family and friends.
“Surprise!” they all yelled, and Frank realized he’d forgotten his own birthday, yet again.
(sheepishly avoiding eye contact) … Oh, hello, didn’t see you there. Heh. How have you been?
Yes, okay, fine. I’ve been terrible. Let’s get past that to the more friendly daily celebration. Look at that word count for today, huh? Pretty nice, considering it’s not even the only thing I did today. I also saw a matinee and hung out with my girlfriend’s parents for a few hours.
Of course, I should never work so hard on a day when I do so much other stuff, because then people will just assume that such a word count is easy. The truth is that, over the last nine days, I’ve been thinking about the scenes I wrote today a lot. So today, everything sort of just popped.
I could’ve probably kept going, but it felt important to stop before all my writing turned to drivel.
In my defense, I was sick all last week (still am), but I’m finally feeling more like my old self.
I missed nine days in a row. That’s right. It’s pathetic.
Reading for an audience once again
So no, I didn’t get anything written over the weekend, but I think getting another movie review finished and stepping out of my shell to get down to a bar to do an Open Mic reading on a Sunday evening should count for something. I read Ten-Minute Write, No. 3, which received a few vocalizations from the audience (mostly when I described a fat man’s shit-smeared crack), and it felt really great. I can’t wait to do it again.
Reading at an open mic session is definitely a strange and rather selfish game, but there’s something about the silent competition that does energize me. I want to be the coolest reader in the room, and I don’t think I’m alone in that. But when you hear pieces that are far better than yours, which I did, it really makes you want to do better–to write better, more meaningful things that are more fun for the audience. It helps you tune your own bullshit meter, and that’s always valuable. The difference between worthwhile writing and writerly masturbation is made dreadfully clear when you start to bug other people with your scribblings.
[mappress]I’m already thinking about what kind of piece I’ll write for the next open mic session I go to, and any time something gets me psyched to write all over again is a good day.
If you are in the NYC area and want to come and read, or come and see me read next time, the open mic is the first Sunday of every month at a little bar in lower Manhattan.
Black and White
86 E. 10th St.
New York, NY 10003
How to Train Your Dragon is the second non-Shrek Dreamworks Animation film that I’ve enjoyed (the first was Kung Fu Panda). In both cases, I didn’t want to see the film based on the preview and went only due to good word of mouth. Well, let me now join the chorus of other voices and say that How to Train Your Dragon is a fun, easy-to-watch adventure that, while not revolutionary, represents another nice step into non-gimmicky storytelling for Dreamworks Animation that is delightfully free of Smashmouth songs and out-of-place pop-culture references.
The story is predictable but effective: A wimpy Viking boy, with the pejorative name of Hiccup (voiced by Jay Baruchel), flies in the face of his town’s dragon-slaughtering ways, secretly befriending a wounded Night Terror dragon–the most dangerous of all dragons and one not yet seen by human eyes. Hiccup is a bit of an inventor, and when he realizes the dragon needs new tail feathers in order to fly again, he fires up the kiln and builds a rig that soon has him flying his very own pet dragon. The dragon, which he names Toothless, needs Hiccup to fly; Hiccup needs Toothless to help him find a way toward more compassionate Viking/Dragon relations. Hijinks and culture clashes ensue, dragons are flown, and a lot of stuff ends up engulfed in flames.
So the story is pretty much a given from the first general characterizations. There’s a competent nod to the Chicks-Can-Kick-Ass-Too school of feminism in the character of Astrid (America Ferrera), who is the fiercest of the other children warriors and part-love-interest, part-competitor for Hiccup–but it’s all a little too easily unraveled. Astrid still ends up being cast into the role of support structure for the heroic, dragon-riding male. I think this dynamic was done much better recently in Kick-Ass, but I understand that this film is meant to be lighter in spirit. Not every movie has to have some sort of tragedy, but it would be nice if there were just a tiny bit more bite to this dragon fable. There’s a sort of uneven vibe to the danger, especially when the characters are training to fight dragons, that often left me confused: were the children actually risking their lives in practice, or did their teacher always have it under control? It’s perplexing, because I feel like there was both too much danger and not enough danger in the encounters with these fire-breathing creatures.
Where the film shines is in the gorgeous cinematography, which is often surprisingly artistic and witty. There’s a wonderful aerial battle in the final act that observers on the ground see as a lightning storm in the clouds, complete with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shadows of warring dragons. Water, too, looks the best I’ve ever seen it look in a computer animated film. The flying scenes are effective, although I wanted more of them. Finally, I found myself remarking more than once at what a great, dynamic job the filmmakers did with Hiccup’s hair, which is reshaped in nicely authentic ways by his many flights.
My favorite visual, however, was Toothless, whose design was unique and successfully vacillated between intimidating and adorable. The dragon design in How to Train Your Dragon outdoes the dragon design in other recent attempts, such as Alice in Wonderland, or even Eragon, a film in which the dragons also unfortunately talked. There’s no talking here, which is welcome. Without the crutch of blathering conversation, the filmmakers adopt more purely cinematic storytelling techniques, which always draws me in. This film is not as good as Wall*E, but I like the dialogue-free beginning of that movie, and I like the dialogue-free scenes between Toothless and Hiccup here. Both films drew me into their stories with interesting scenes between two characters from different worlds. It’s a nice way to ground the film in some real heart before flying off into more effects-heavy wizardry.
3.5/5
How to Train Your Dragon, directed by Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois. Written by William Davies, Peter Tolan, Sanders and DeBlois. Based on the book by Cressida Cowell. Running time: 98 minutes. Rated PG (for sequences of intense action, some scary images and brief mild language).
Okay, so here’s a little sidenote that I feel compelled to add, so I hope you’ll spare me another paragraph or so.
Aspiring horror novelist though I may be, I’d like it noted that I went to see a fun kid’s adventure movie instead of the new remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street. I don’t approve of this remake mania, and I will not support it. How hard is it to come up with your own original mythology? I’m doing it. Why can’t these professionals do likewise? I dislike both the Saw and the Final Destination franchises, but at least they created their own gimmicks. So, please, can I get some more horror films that are 1.) not remakes, 2.) not vampire movies, and 3.) not zombie flicks.
Please? Anyone? Is it really that hard to come up with something that wants to eat people that you have to make go back to the freaking Wolfman? Until I’ve seen The Deerman, you aren’t trying hard enough!
Ohhhhhhh, Thursday! We meet again, and once again, I have overcome general tiredness to sit down at (literally) the eleventh hour and get some writing in before closing shop after a day of coding, therapy, Spanish class, and grocery shopping.
My recommendation of the day for anyone struggling to get in the mood to write some horror fiction? Make an iTunes playlist based on ‘If I Was Your Vampire’ by Marilyn Manson. Amazing stuff! Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Deftones, Coheed and Cambria … Just awesome stuff, I’m telling you.
It’ll get you going.
This is how we do it: one weary day at a time, with whatever tricks we can get to work for us on the day …
The title translates to The Secret in Their Eyes, or so we’re told, because it’s actually a non-specific pronoun in Spanish. It translates just as well to ‘his eyes,’ ‘her eyes,’ or even ‘your eyes,’ if you like, and it’s a clever title, because the secret is passion itself, and the theme of the film is the secret passions of various people. One character at one point tells another that while you can change a lot of things about yourself, you’ll never be able to change your passion. It’s a good line, easily the best in the film, and it rings true.
Unfortunately, that’s more or less as far as my enjoyment of this film goes.
That this overrated Oscar-winner (Best Foreign Language Film, 2010) becomes a meditation on the different passions of a handful of people connected by the rape and murder of a young woman makes it a rather muddled affair. While thematically consistent, the secret love two characters have for each other seems a little beside the point in a film that’s really little more than a handsome police procedural. I found myself impatient with the pieces of the movie that didn’t seem to be very well connected to the main thrust of the plot, and I was impatient a lot. The movie felt long to me, and it’s because of all the tangential scenes used to beef up the movie’s self-important mission.
I also found myself wondering just how many mysteries end with reveals that incorporate copious redundant flashbacks to all the clues you may have missed if you don’t really like paying attention to what you’re watching. El Secreto de Sus Ojos ends with just such a sequence of repeated lines, and worse–some of the lines are repeated multiple times! I said multiple times! More than once! As in, multiple times!
Ay de mi. I do like to pay attention to what I watch, and so I found these scenes unnecessary and insulting.
If a story is properly constructed, I don’t think the audience will need such repetitive flashes. Work your exposition properly, writers, and stop it with the lazy recaps. I’m adding this to my rules for mystery films.
None of which is to mention that I saw the twist (if you can even call it that and respect yourself in the morning) coming a mile away. There is one malevolent detail that I loved about it that I didn’t see coming. I can’t spoil it for those that see this movie, but you’ll be able to guess it when you see it, I think. It’s quite mean, and it made the horror writer in me giggle.
There’s also a charged police interrogation scene in the middle of the film that plays like a dressed-up version of a scene you could see any day of the week on the dozens of primetime cop shows–apart from its graphic finale that would only make it suitable for HBO or Showtime. The writer/director of El Secreto is not someone I was familiar with, so, I confess, I looked him up on IMDb. I was shocked and a little horrified to find he has done extensive work on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Law & Order: Criminal Intent, and House: M.D. These are all shows I hate for their schlocky disingenuous nature (I am a devoted, passionate fan of The Wire, if that tells you anything at all), and while I feel like El Secreto isn’t that bad, it is similar in a lot of ways–it is just a touch classier and a smidge more thoughtful.
Chalk this one up to yet another overrated film from last year.
3/5
El Secreto de Sus Ojos, written and directed by Juan Jose Campanella. Based on the novel by Eduardo Sacheri. In Spanish with English subtitles. Running time: 129 minutes. Rated R (for a rape scene, violent images, some graphic nudity and language).
Okay, so I missed yesterday because of trivia and the post-trivia movie night with the roommates. Not a great excuse, because I did have an hour between work and the bar, but I used it to watch the Red Sox/Blue Jays game and have dinner. Sue me.
But tonight, wow, did I ever not want to write! Finally got back on the horse after falling asleep watching more Red Sox baseball (I know, addiction here I come, but they’re winning! I like to watch them win!), woke up at about 9pm to finally get my act in gear.
For all that, I think the scene was pretty fun. I’ve got a few great scenes lined up, I think, and I hope they’re entertaining enough because this section really could run the risk of being boring or repetitive.
Nobody likes that.
What everybody does like: another Red Sox win! Looks like they’ll sweep the series against the Blue Jays. Only top of the 9th as I write this, but Sox lead 2-0 …
Cheered by the quality of beer at the party, Paul took a sip of a nice IPA and decided to take his chances mingling.
A pod of people had gathered around a clean-cut, Rob Lowe-looking guy, standing in front of an empty fireplace, telling a story through copious references to technology.
“I didn’t have my BlackBerry, so I had to login to my mail using my iPhone. Have you ever tried that? Not using the mail app, but actually logging into a client you haven’t actually set up? It’s so slow if you don’t have the 3G enabled! I have to upgrade this summer when they release the iPhone OS4, because it’s just hellish using my first generation iPhone these days. It’s like I’m living in the Stone Age, although I did just finally order an iPad. I can’t wait to get it. I got a Kindle for Christmas, but I never use it. Our IT girl has an iPad, and she swears by it. I really think it’s the future.”
Wow, Paul thought. They’ve replaced that guy’s brain with advertisements.
He found an attractive girl who looked about twenty-five, laughing at something an old gentleman beside her had said while the two of them perused the table of expensive snacks. There were slices of peppercorn-encrusted salami, a wheel of brie, assorted crackers, a fruit plate, and an assortment of dips. Paul thought the salami looked good and took a few slices.
“I love this stuff,” he said.
The young brunette’s eyes immediately went to his gut. “And what do you do?”
He loved getting asked that before being asked his name. It was how he knew he was in New York City. “I’m a lumberjack,” he said. “What about you?”
“I work for a hedge fund.”
“Oh,” he said, and he smiled and walked off, realizing that he was judging everyone there even more harshly than they were judging him.
He took another long pull from the IPA. It really tasted delicious on top of all that peppercorn salami.